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I stared up at him, and lowered my chin. “I won’t.”
His arms dropped to his sides, and he gestured to the empty chair beside me.
I sat, and watched him walk around his desk to sit in his large computer chair.
“So, tell me how it went with your mother.”
I took a few deep breaths while I gathered my thoughts. “Apparently, my mother was an alcoholic.”
His eyebrows lifted, though I knew he wasn’t surprised. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“She said she had postpartum depression after she had me, and she would drink in order to feel better.” I averted my eyes, embarrassed to admit it out loud. “You can call me a hypocrite anytime, now.”
“Do you think I would ever call you that?” T.J. waited for me to make eye contact with him before continuing. “Alcoholism is hereditary. With all that you’ve had to endure in your life, it’s no wonder you looked for something to help you cope with the pain. I get it. I get you, and you’re not a hypocrite.”
“I just feel so mixed up inside.” I rubbed my forehead. “I have hated her for so long, but now I don’t know where to put that hate. How can I hate her when I did the same exact thing? I understood every word she said.”
“We’re all guilty of judging people and situations too harshly. Life comes full circle, and as we grow up, we’re usually faced with the very things we swore ourselves against. It happens, and I’m glad it happens because it’s a valuable lesson to learn. It’s important for you to hear your mom’s side. All that hate you carried around inside of you can now be turned into empathy. She was suffering long before you or your father suffered.”
I listened, taking in every word he spoke.
“What made you start drinking last night?” he asked.
“I was looking at myself in the mirror, and all I could see was her. After hearing everything that she told me,” I shook my head, cringing. “I became her, T.J. Somehow, I managed to turn into the person that I hate the most.”
“So, in turn, you hate yourself.”
“Shelly thinks I am a warrior. Staring at myself in the mirror, I realized that I’m not a warrior. I’m a coward. I was so mad at myself last night. I wanted to do the one thing that I knew would hurt me the most.”
“That self-sabotaging behavior has got to stop, Merritt. You need to gain control of your emotions. Your mother did you a favor. She held up a mirror so that you could take a good hard look at yourself. If you don’t like what you see staring back at you, then make a change.”
“I want to.”
“Then do it,” he countered. “A warrior is more than someone who fights in wars. She is someone who shows courage and perseverance in those battles. I can teach you how to fight, but I can’t throw the punches for you. Fighting takes heart. You either have it, or you don’t. Your parents didn’t have it; mine didn’t either. Should we just lie down and accept our fate as cowards, or should we fight to become something more?”
“We should be warriors.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “There’s my girl.”
“Just dump it down the drain,”I ordered.
“That is such a waste of money,” Shelly replied from the kitchen.
“So then take it to the frat house. I don’t care what you do with it. I just need it out of here.”
“I can’t believe you fell off the wagon.” She loaded the bottles of tequila, vodka, and rum into a shopping bag, and carried it to the front door, setting it down beside her shoes.
“I can’t believe my mother was an alcoholic my entire life.”
“I can’t believe you broke up with Chase.”
“You win.”
Shelly plopped onto the couch beside me. “Has he been calling you?”
“Yup. Funny how he suddenly has time to call me now.”
“That is very true. How are you holding up?”
